


Back Again

by CinnamonLily



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Peter Hale, Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Good Alpha Peter, Kid Fic, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Mates, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Mpreg, Reunited lovers, Survival, ambiguous time period, implied past mpreg, well sort of at least
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-20
Updated: 2017-10-20
Packaged: 2019-01-20 06:26:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12426882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CinnamonLily/pseuds/CinnamonLily
Summary: Supernatural beings came out of their hidey holes seven years ago. It took two years for it all to go shit and a war between humans and the supernatural world broke out. Stiles hasn't seen his mate since. Five long years have passed, a lot has changed. What will Peter find when he makes his way back to his mate?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [red_crate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/red_crate/gifts).



Stiles is digging out the last of the potatoes, when Ozzy tumbles through the bushes lining their tiny yard.

“Daddy, there’s a man in the forest!” he half-screams, trying to be quiet, but not quite succeeding.

The small shovel Stiles has been using drops from his hands, when he whirls around.

“Calm down, baby. Can you tell me what’s going on?” he asks, moving outside the veggie garden so his excitable four-year-old won’t trample what’s left in the almost empty lot.

“I ran and ran and ran, and I got to the boulder and I got thirsty and I went to drink from the stream, and then I smelled someone and I looked up and there was a man!” Ozzy explains, looking equal parts scared and excited, because he hasn’t seen a person other than Stiles in his life.

“What did the man do?” Stiles can barely keep his heart from beating out of his chest. Getting scared in front of a young werewolf incapable of understanding why his heart is beating so fast would only scare him in return.

“He stooded there and he said he needed to talk to you,” Ozzy provides, then looks as he’s concentrating really hard on something more. His brows scrunch up, as does his little upturned nose.

“Did he say something else?” Stiles asks, hoping that whatever it is, it isn’t a threat.

“He said….” Ozzy thinks, then suddenly beams up a smile at him. “He said the p-password is spark.”

Stiles sways as his knees try to fold, barely managing to stay upright.

“Come with daddy, Ozzy. As fast as you can,” he says, and starts running toward the river.

He can’t believe this. It’s not supposed to be possible. Not after this many years.

He rushes through the underbrush, not caring if he’s making too obvious marks. None of that matters right then.

The river lines the territory he’s carved for himself and Ozzy. It’s the furthest point, and his wards are on this side of the water. That’s why they weren’t tripped.

His son has gone halfway furry, excited to run “as fast as he can,” their code for going wolfy. When they come closer to the narrow river, to the boulder they leave their clothes before they go swimming, he stops.

He can’t see around the boulder, which means whoever knows his password can’t see them, either. But they can sense them, for sure. Because nobody without a wolf nose could’ve found them there.

Stiles considers for a moment. Does he leave Ozzy behind the boulder or take him with? If somehow, this person is dangerous, does it matter? If they hurt Stiles, there’s nobody else for Ozzy out there. Nowhere else to go.

He swallows hard and looks down at his baby.

“Okay,” he says, and holds a hand to his son.

Ozzy takes it, his small claws carefully held so that he won’t hurt Stiles.

“I love you, baby,” Stiles says, just in case, and leans down to hug him close quickly.

When he gets up again, Ozzy beams at him, looking a little bit confused. “I love you too, Daddy.”

They round the boulder.


	2. Chapter 2

Peter isn’t sure how long it takes him to find Stiles again.

He left to fight with the rest of his pack when the Council ordered that all werewolves who were old enough had to fight in the war between humans and supernatural beings.

That was five years ago.

There were rumblings when the two worlds collided two years before that. He’s amazed it took two years to get to the point of war.

It’s oddly ironic how little time it took for what some might’ve called the end of the world.

As soon as they knew things were going to go to hell, they started to look for a place to hide in. Nobody outside their pack knew Stiles wasn’t purely human, so he had to be kept safe. If someone had found out and recruited him when the war came, he would’ve been an easy target to get rid of, after all his spark wasn’t magic, not really, back then.

They’d found a place in northern California that they thought was safe. That’s where Peter had left his beloved mate.

When the war ravaged the world, when Peter took more lives, all he could think of was his mate being safe. He killed humans at first, as were the orders, and other supernaturals in the last six months the war raged on. The remaining humans had gone to hiding in small clusters that were left, and the supernatural beings had turned on each other for the place on the top of the new food chain.

He didn’t know if any of their pack was left, but he doubted it. If there was someone, Peter couldn’t feel the pack bond for some reason. The only thing that still tugged him occasionally was the mating bond.

He’d made his way back to California. Their safe place had been ransacked, burned to the ground, but he could tell that had happened years ago. The thought that their haven hadn’t been safe after all made him scared for the first time in months.

It took him weeks to find the next place, that one in Nevada. It had Stiles’s protection rune, the only one he’d known, carved in the trees nearby, a telltale sign that his mate had made it here. But those too were old by years.

He went east next, to Utah, and searched for several weeks more.

But there he stood now, staring across a river at the runes glowing faintly in tree trunks, with the same protection rune carved above them. Regular protection rune and the glowing ones that would alert his mate that someone had crossed to his land.

Peter was tired, weary to the bone, by then. He wept for a while, silently shaking in the fall leaves, knowing his mate was nearby.

He couldn’t smell Stiles, but the runes wouldn’t have been active if his mate was dead. Or so he hoped.

He rested for an hour or so and gathered himself, then got to his feet and waited for the wobbling to stop. He was malnourished, hadn’t eaten for a couple of days now, and when the sudden rustle of something small running through the bushes on the opposite side of the river caught his attention, his first thought was “rabbit.”

It wasn’t a rabbit.

A small werewolf pup came to a halt by a large boulder and panted roughly. He looked healthy, happy, and exuberant.

The child walked to the river, careful in a way only a child who has been told enough times not to fall into the water would be.

Peter watched, not understanding what he saw.

Then the pup stopped drinking from his grubby hands and lifted his head. He inhaled, and promptly fell onto his butt in the leaves.

He had caught Peter’s scent, and was frantically looking around to figure out where it came from.

Peter stepped out of the forest line, and went down a few steps so the pup could see him.

“Hi there,” he said.

The little boy looked at him, and Peter’s breath stuttered, his heart lurching in his chest.

A small upturned nose, moles on his cheek, and blue eyes as familiar as Peter’s own.

“’M not s’posed to talk to strangers,” the boy said immediately, peering at Peter with equal amounts of suspicion and fascination.

He reminded Peter so much of Stiles as a teenager it hurt even more.

“Okay. So let me talk, then,” he said, hoping his voice wouldn’t wobble too much. It was rusty with how long he’d been silent.

The boy nodded, too curious to do anything else.

“You live with your daddy, I think. I also think his names might be S-stiles,” Peter said, hating how the name of his mate stuttered with emotion. “Could you go to your daddy and tell him there’s someone here? That I’m waiting here?”

The boy considered, then nodded slowly.

Before the pup could run back, Peter said, “One more thing.”

The serious blue eyes gazed into his, and the boy nodded again.

“There’s one very important thing you need to tell him, okay? You’re old enough to remember an important thing, right?”

Another nod, this one more eager.

“Good boy. You need to tell this to your daddy, so listen carefully. Tell him ‘the password is spark.’”

The boy scrunched his whole face. It was obvious he didn’t know what either “spark” or “password” was, so Peter repeated the sentence twice more.

“Okay, go now.”

The pup turned around and ran back to where he’d come from.

Peter collapsed to his knees, mind whirling with dozen different things.

The child was obviously Stiles’s, but how could that be? And the color of his eyes and the fact that he was a wolf. The only obvious answer was magic. But how could Stiles have had that much of magic?

He decided to wait, and forced his racing heart to rest and his mind to calm for the time being. It worked, sort of, right until the breeze brought him a familiar scent.

Peter felt the sob bubble up from his chest. _Mate._

He heard them come closer, then stop. The murmured words of love. He realized his mate didn’t know who he was, and was preparing for the worst.

With tears in his eyes, Peter watched as Stiles rounded the boulder, holding the pup’s hand.

As soon as their gazes met, Stiles fell to his knees across the river.

“Daddy, daddy!” the pup called, alarmed.

“I-it’s okay, Ozzy, I’m f-fine,” Stiles tried to comfort him, even though it was obvious he wasn’t fine at all.

“Stiles,” Peter breathed, reaching a hand out when it looked like Stiles might faint.

Being outside the wards, across the narrow river, felt like torture right then.

Then Stiles looked at the wards and did something with his left hand. The glow vanished completely.

“Get inside,” Stiles told Peter, who got to his feet as quickly as he possibly could, and jumped over the river, knowing that they couldn’t leave the wards down for long.

As soon as he was through the invisible line, Stiles did another complicated looking gesture with his hand and the hum of protective magic enveloped Peter.


	3. Chapter 3

Stiles closed the wards and looked at his mate for the first time in five years.

He looked battle worn, like he’d been hurt too many times and not everything had healed like it should have. Who knew what kind of creatures he’d had to fight to get here.

Stiles knew it couldn’t have been easy to find them, either. He’d run fast and far, leaving proof of his existence that only Peter would know were significant. He’d run, and run, and eventually he’d had to stop because he realized that somehow his magic had flared into life, quite literally.

“Daddy?” Ozzy asked, his lip wobbling as he still held onto Stiles’s hand and stood behind his shoulder.

“It’s okay, Ozzy baby. This is P-peter,” he said, then added, “Your other daddy.”

The realization–or rather confirmation, Stiles guessed–in Peter’s eyes made Stiles move to where his mate was now crouching.

He let go of Ozzy’s hand as he made his way, hands and knees, to Peter and all but climbed into his arms.

He could feel the way Peter was fragile underneath his dirty and torn clothing.

“Oh God, oh God, oh God,” Stiles repeated, momentarily lost in the relief and the mate bond snapping into place like a rubber band.

“Stiles,” Peter said reverently, his scraggly beard rasping against Stiles’s cheek and then neck when he buried his face against his skin.

“It’s okay now, you’re with us. We’re safe. I promise, it’s okay now,” Stiles babbled, feeling the need Peter had for those words.

As Peter wept against him, Stiles held back his hand for Ozzy to pull the boy close and into the pack hug.

He could tell the moment Peter felt the bond between himself and their son, because the wolf lifted his head and looked at the pup, eyes flaring red.

Ozzy whimpered, his own eyes changing into gold for just a moment before he lowered his gaze and bared his neck on pure instinct.

“This is John Oscar Matthew Hale,” Stiles said. “Our son.”

He heard the hitch in Peter’s breathing. Matthew had been his father’s name, John the Sheriff’s.

“Ozzy, this is Peter Hale, your daddy and your alpha,” he told the boy, who nodded against his shoulder and shyly peered at Peter.

They’d bonded over Oscar Wilde back in the day when they’d still researched for the more or less divided Hale and McCall packs. There was no way Peter would’ve missed that significance. His smirk, a shadow of what it had once been, a proof of that.

“Hi, pup,” Peter said and raised a hand to touch Ozzy’s hair gently.

Stiles saw how the hand was shaking, even when Peter tried his best to keep it steady.

Ozzy looked at Peter and grinned. “Hi, Daddy Peter.”

The wounded animal sound Peter let out made the boy blink, but then he was suddenly enveloped in a hug with both of his parents, and the pure surge of peace coming from that made him go lax in their grip.

 

It took them a moment to get to the cottage with how weak Peter was.

“It isn’t much, but it’s home,” Stiles said, smiling slightly as they finally stood in the clearing.

It had once been a hunting cabin, he thought. Once, as in abandoned decades ago. It had been the only shelter he’d found in these woods when he’d started to get too big to move for more than an hour or so every day. He’d cried when he’d found it, and dragged his backpack inside the half-collapsed thing. Then he’d slept for twelve hours, dead to the world.

Now, the cottage looked different. He’d worked it over the last few years, and there was a roof and solid walls. He’d even managed to save enough glass from the old partially broken window frames that there was one actual window with intact glass in each square pane. The three other windows he’d boarded up.

“It looks homey,” Peter said quietly, then smiled.

“Well I can agree to that.”

“Come on, Daddy Peter, let me show you inside!” Ozzy grabbed Peter’s hand and pulled the man into the little building.

Stiles stayed outside and went to the fire pit to make a fire. He’d magicked his wards around the clearing so that any smoke dispersed fully before reaching the tops of the surrounding trees. The book on runes he’d stolen from a ransacked magic shop somewhere in Utah had paid off.

There were wards upon wards and symbols on top of symbols, runes everywhere. He’d done everything he could to keep his baby safe alone.

He listened to Ozzy’s bright voice as he explained things to Peter who murmured back every now and then.

There wasn’t much. It was all one room, but he’d divided the sleeping space by the fireplace with a heavy hide curtain when he’d eventually managed to kill three deer. He’d had a rifle, but he’d been hesitant to use it, scared that it would draw attention to his whereabouts. So he’d always gone at least a day’s journey away with a small baby bundled against his chest, slept inside a sleeping bag. Then he’d shot a deer, slaughtered it, taken as much as he could carry including the hide, and made the trek back home.

It took him weeks to get the three hides, but it had been worth it. Now, in the dead of winter when it got cold and snowed by the mountains where they were hidden, he could block some of the open space off with the hide wall and conserve heat during the nights.

He still needed to figure out insulation, maybe build another layer of wall around the cabin, but he hadn’t gotten there alone. Mostly, because there was also hunting small game, trying to fish at the lake—surprisingly hard with a rambunctious werewolf pup bouncing around on the shore—and tending to their vegetable garden.

His days were full, and he was exhausted. He was also happy, or so he’d thought. Having Peter back suddenly made him realize that he hadn’t been happy to his marrow, not like he was now with his mate so close.

His magic had settled, too. It didn’t fluctuate through his body, pinching or zapping him on the inside like it usually did every now and then.

Stiles made sure the fire caught properly, then poured some water into the large pot he’d found in a trash pile behind the cottage. By some miracle, it didn’t have holes in it, and it was one of Stiles’s most prized possessions to this day.

He knew he needed to find a town, or even just a farm, and go looting again. Things had settled down, but danger could be anywhere, and with a child…. He’d decided it just wasn’t worth the danger. They could survive with what they had, and now Ozzy could help with little things, too.

He hefted the pot onto the edge of the fire pit. He needed to warm up some food for Peter, too, but he thought his mate would want to clean up first.

“Peter?” he said in a normal voice, knowing he’d be heard.

Soon, Peter and Ozzy—who was still babbling away—came outside.

“Yes, love?” Peter asked, and something painful in Stiles’s chest loosened.

“If you want to clean up, there’s a block of soap on the shelf, Ozzy will show you. I can shave your beard, I have a few blades. I’m heating water. If you think you can go to the river and back for a dip, I’ll make sure there’s soup when you get back.”

Ozzy bounced next to Peter. “Can I come with you, Daddy?” he asked Peter, bouncing on his little feet.

“Of course, everyone needs a lifeguard.” Peter’s smile was tired, but breathtaking.

“Oz, take the soap and a towel for daddy, okay? You stay on dry land, you bathed yesterday.”

“But Daddy…,” Ozzy whined.

“No.”

The pup’s shoulders slumped as he trudged back inside.

“I have some clean clothes left,” Peter said and started to rummage through the huge hiking backpack he had. “And I think I have shampoo somewhere. A few other goodies, too. Including a straight razor.”

Stiles groaned. “That would be great. If we can find new blades or save one, it will be easy to shave off some hair come spring.”

“You’ve shaved off your hair for the summers?” Peter smiled at him wistfully.

“Oh yeah, easiest like that. This last summer I shaved Ozzy too.”

“Here you go, Daddy!” Ozzy came from inside and handed the supplies to Peter.

“I think we need to figure out another name you can call me. Maybe Papa? So that Stiles can be Daddy and I’ll be Papa?” Peter asked them both.

Ozzy mused at that for a moment, then nodded. “Okay!”

Stiles smiled at the both. It was a miracle to see how relaxed Ozzy was with Peter. He’d never met another human being—or a wolf, in this case—but his whole being responded to his alpha, knew that there would never be any harm coming from Peter.

“Okay, you two go now. Do you want soup too, Ozzy?”

“Yeah, Daddy, thank you!” Ozzy sing-songed as he followed Peter back toward the river.

 

By the time his boys came back from the river, Stiles had venison and veggie soup steaming on the edge of the fire pit.

Peter looked remarkably better, especially because all he had on was some sweatpants and a t-shirt. He was too skinny, scars that hadn’t healed visible on his arms. Stiles didn’t want to know what he’d been fighting. Didn’t want to know what leaf such scars on an alpha wolf.

“Here, sit down and eat, and then I’ll shave you?” He patted on the log bench he’d made ages ago. “You sit as well and eat, then naptime,” he told Ozzy, who frowned, but knew that Stiles wouldn’t budge.

Watching them both eat and having to heat seconds for Peter made Stiles feel all warm and fuzzy inside. He’d missed his mate so much, and providing for him now seemed like a blessing.

“You’ve been hunting?” Peter asked as he waited for Stiles to deem the food ready.

“Yeah, I have about ten bullets left for the rifle. I only use it on emergencies, though. I don’t want to draw attention.”

“Well for what it’s worth, I didn’t meet anyone anywhere in almost a week’s journey here.”

“I’m done, Daddy!” Ozzy piped up, showing them his empty wooden bowl.

“Okay, you know what to do.”

Ozzy got down from the bench and took his bowl to the pile of dirty dishes—there weren’t many, because they didn’t have much, but there was still stuff to wash. Hell, there was _always_ something to clean.

Then he came to Stiles and gave him a big smooch on the cheek. He turned to Peter and looked at him, suddenly shy.

“You can give me a hug and a kiss, too,” Peter said and crouched on his son’s level.

Ozzy went into his arms and rubbed his nose against Peter’s neck, then kissed him noisily on the cheek, giggling at the bristly beard.

“Daddy shave Papa’s beard, it tickles!”

“Will do, nugget.”

Ozzy ran inside and closed the door, making the inside dark like a cave. Stiles had decided it was a wolf thing, as Peter and the pack had always wanted to sleep in the dark too, if possible.

“He’s amazing,” Peter said, eyes glistening with tears.

“That he is.” Stiles smiled and filled Peter’s bowl again.

As Peter ate, Stiles sat next to him and soaked in the warmth against his side. It was only afternoon, but inside the forest, the chill would start to creep in soon. The nights were cold here already.

“I think I’m full,” Peter said after eating half of the second bowl.

Stiles smiled when he noticed Peter had eaten all the meat and only a little of the vegetables. Ozzy did the same thing if he didn’t keep watch.

He got the still warm water and a smaller towel. He soaped Peter’s beard gently, then took the straight razor and grinned.

“No, I wouldn’t let anyone else near my jugular with that thing,” Peter said, smiling at him.

There was something unspeakably sensual in shaving his mate. Peter’s eyes fluttered close as Stiles worked. He cut some hair, too, just to take away from the length a bit, and finally finished the shave when he deemed it even enough.

“Okay, I think you’re good,” he said and held Peter’s chin between his fingers, turning his head this and that way to be sure.

Peter opened his eyes, the blue almost swallowed by the black of his irises. Stiles put the blade down on the bench carefully, then purposefully stepped closer between Peter’s thighs, feeling the hardness there.

He cupped Peter’s cheeks and leaned down to put his mouth on his mate’s.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it for now. I have other things to write, but I'll probably come back to this one at one point, as I like the !verse I've created. 
> 
> Please let me know if you like it and would like to see more.
> 
> Also all mistakes and spelling errors you might find are mine. I wrote this in one day and didn't have anyone beta it. I just wanted it out of my head.

* * *

 

 

Every time the blade scraped across his skin, Peter settled more and more. The way his mate treated him like something precious, something to take care of, while wielding an instrument that could kill even an alpha, was everything to him.

He felt the beard and the hair fall off, although Stiles left his hair mostly alone. He appreciated the gesture anyway. The more skin the blade revealed, the more of it Stiles was touching.

His warmth against Peter’s front, so near yet still too far, teased his senses.

He could barely remember what Stiles’s smell had been like in the old world. Back before when they’d stood in Derek’s loft, researching together.

Now, there was no tang of ADHD medication, or detergent. He could smell herbs of some kind, sweat and forest, and what made his mate unique. He smelled like their pup, too. His scent carried pack, safety, _home._

When Stiles deemed himself done, Peter was hard. His wolf was insisting on reclaiming their mate, and Peter, the man, he had clung onto the memory of that last night in the first safehouse for five years.

Stiles kissed him first, gently, carefully. Peter growled against his mouth, and felt Stiles’s lips stretch into a smile.

“Come, I have a blanket out in the back.”

Peter barely realized what Stiles was saying, but followed him behind the cabin anyway.

There was a long string hung between two threes, and some clothing was drying in the breeze. Stiles went to the blanket that was last on the line and pulled it down, then he gestured for Peter to follow.

The phrase “being led by your dick” sounded about right to Peter right then, and it made him chuckle. He was painfully hard, following his mate out of the clearing and into the forest.

They didn’t go far, not with Ozzie sleeping in the cabin, but far enough Peter could hear him if he came outside.

Stiles spread the blanket on a spot that had mostly grass and moss, and they sunk onto it together.

Peter had dreamed about this so many nights he couldn’t remember anymore. There were differences in Stiles now. The hard physical labor had made his shoulders wider, his arms ropey with muscles, despite the leanness that seemed natural to him.

When Peter went to pull Stiles’s shirt over his head, the human put a hand on top of Peter’s.

“Look… this is… I don’t look the same anymore. I… it’s a bit gruesome.”

Peter pulled his hand back and removed his own shirt in response. There were scars and burn-like areas on his torso. Everywhere. There were more scars than healthy skin at first glance.

“What did Ozzie ask about these?” Stiles ask, reaching to touch some of the scarring.

“The usual. What you’d expect. He decided they were there because I was a hero.” Again, Peter felt his eyes gathering some unwanted moisture and shook his head. “But you see, neither of us is the same.”

Stiles took his own shirt off and seemed to battle the need to cover himself.

Peter took one of his hands and squeezed his fingers, then looked at the skin on Stiles’s stomach.

There was a very crude C-section type of scar on Stiles. It was ridged, not straight, and the bumpiness under Peter’s hands made the alpha wince.

“I wished for a miracle that night,” Stiles said quietly. “I raged at my spark, wanting to know why it hadn’t made me strong enough to go with you all. I asked it to give me something useful, something that would bind me to you more. I don’t think….” He swallowed hard and looked away. “I didn’t think it was possible. I didn’t know.”

Peter lowered his head and kissed and nuzzled Stiles’s stomach until he felt his mate’s long fingers in his hair.

“When I realized why I was feeling ill an gaining weight despite not having much to eat, I realized my magic had made life somehow. That _we_ had made life. So I ran. I knew I had to get as far as possible before the bump grew too big for me to move.”

“How did this happen?” Peter asked, pressing his cheek right next to the scar.

“I knew I was due soon. I could feel it. I could hardly move anymore. He got lively inside me, kicked the shit out of me, the brat.” They both smiled at that. “So I decided I’d give birth in front of the fireplace inside, on the floor, and that’s where I slept until the time came one night. I… there was nobody else. I didn’t know, had nowhere to know how this was supposed to happen. I was so scared….”

Peter’s wolf made a whimpering sound that bubbled up through his human lips. Stiles’s hand that had stilled started to move again in his hair.

“I’d reserved supplies by the fireplace. I had piece of leather to bite on. A sharp, sharp knife. Needle and surgical thread. I…. I still don’t know how I did it.”

Peter felt ill at the thought of what his mate was telling him. What he’d had to do, because magic had decided to work it’s weird ways and give him what he’d asked.

“And so I cut myself open. I passed out several times. But you know my head is filled with random knowledge. I remember looking into C-sections once in my teens. Turns out my useless knowledge base isn’t so useless after all,” he said, smiling grimly. “I did it all myself. I got him out. I made sure he was warm by the fire and then passed the fuck out. Somehow I didn’t bleed to death. Must’ve been the spark,” he said thoughtfully. “Eventually I managed to stitch myself up.”

Peter cried, then.

It triggered Stiles’s trauma, he thought, and who wouldn’t have PTSD after something like that. They cried together until tears ran out.

“So now I can do more magic,” Stiles said eventually. “It blossomed like Ozzy did. Like him happening made it all open up.”

“Have you been practicing?”

“Not really. It’s not safe when I’m alone with him. The runes and wards are from books I have found. I can light a fire with my spark, but…. I don’t like doing it much. What if it flares? What if it’s out of control?”

“Safety in numbers.” Peter nodded. He could understand the need to keep you child safe.

“So… I don’t know how it goes.” Stiles said and turned to look at Peter. “If I can become pregnant again. Or if I’d have to wish for it or something.”

“That’s a huge risk to take, Stiles.” Who knew what kind of damage he’d caused on himself under his skin where Peter couldn’t see.

“Yeah. But you’re back. So it’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

Peter was about to object, to shake his head, but Stiles beat him to it. “No. I need you, Peter. I _need_ you.”

Peter wasn’t strong enough to deny his mate.

 

They made love and basked in the closeness until Stiles looked up and saw where the sun was shining from.

“Ozzy will be up soon,” he said, then smiled. “I can’t believe he has two parents now. It was my dream, you know. For him to have two parents.”

Peter smiled as they gathered their clothes and pulled them on. “Yeah, I can understand it hasn’t been easy.”

“I’ve always talked about you a lot. How wolves are, everything I know. I just… I can’t explain it the same. So there’s one thing you can bond over for sure.” Stiles frowned at the wet spot on the blanket and hung it back on the line. “I’ve actually taught him to listen for small animals. He can find rabbits and knows how they smell. He likes to chase squirrels, but we don’t eat those.”

Peter found himself smiling again. When Stiles turned around and saw him staring and smiling, he smiled back.

“What?”

“You’re adorable. And you’re so fucking brave and strong,” Peter said. “Anyone would be so proud to call them their mate.”

Stiles snorted, then ducked his head and blushed. “You came back.” As if that alone made him worthy of Stiles. And maybe it did.

Suddenly there was a bang and squeak of an old door, and Ozzy bounced into their view.

“Daddy! Papa!” he called out, then ran to them faster than a human child could’ve.

He collided with Peter’s legs, and held his arms up toward Stiles.

“Hey, Nugget. Did you sleep well?”

“Uh-huh,” Ozzy said, peering at them through his wild bangs.

“Do you want to go patrolling with me?” Peter asked, and the pup tilted his head.

“What’s that?”

“It’s when you go around your territory and see if everything is okay. We might see some animals.”

“Ooh, rabbits, too?” Ozzy’s blue eyes flashed gold, and Stiles groaned.

“Yes, baby, rabbits too.”

“You two go. I’ll finish digging up the potatoes.” Stiles kissed Ozzy’s cheek and then Peter on the lips before handing the pup over.

Peter took him and promptly swung him upside down, holding onto his ankles. “Is this how you hold a child?” he asked, and both Stiles and Ozzy started to laugh, Ozzy shrieking out his joy.

Stiles shook his head fondly and went to the clothesline again to check up on the laundry. Peter placed their son on his feet.

“So, where to, Ozzy?” he asked seriously. He could’ve picked a direction and followed the hum of Stiles’s wards, but why not ask the boy.

Ozzy looked so very serious for a moment, then pointed past the vegetable garden. “This way.” He started to march into his chosen direction, but when he noticed Peter was lacking behind, he called out an impatient “Come _on_ , Papa!”

“I’m coming, hold your horses, pup,” Peter complained playfully.

He wasn’t 100%, nowhere near it, but he could take a slow walk in the woods with his pup.

Soon he’d feel better, and they would have to look into doing some looting. He wasn’t sure where the closest town was, but Stiles might know.

Winter wasn’t far off, but now there were two adults to provide for their family, their pack. Peter could take down deer without a gun alerting anyone. Stiles’s garden had plenty of produce still.

They’d be fine. Peter would make sure of it.

**Author's Note:**

> This is what happens when I get a random Take That ear worm in the middle of making my morning coffee. Sorry not sorry.  
> Dedicated to my new fandom buddy Mads.


End file.
